


My head is throbbing and my hopes are gone

by Anonymous



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Author Projecting onto TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Gen, How Do I Tag, I'm Bad At Summaries, Please Kill Me, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, this is quite boring ngl, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 20:54:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29496138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Tommy has chronic migraines and bottled up emotions(this is a vent fic)
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Kudos: 106
Collections: Anonymous





	My head is throbbing and my hopes are gone

He should be used to it by now. Really.

Waking up to a throbbing headache, turning stomach and being unable to move from dizziness was seriously nothing new, it's been happening for about 2, almost 3 years now.

But people don't really get used to pain, do they?

He curls up further in his bed, glad that the dark blinds of his room didn't let light shine through.

He keeps the tears in, praying that in a few minutes he'll feel well despite knowing it wouldn't happen.

He woke up before sunrise, it was probably around 7am and with it being winter the nights were longer, something he was extremely grateful for.

His suspicions were confirmed when a knock came from his door before a man with blond hair and green clothes came in to wake him up.

"Tommy," was the only thing his brain registered Phil saying before he covered his ears with a whine. 

It was too loud, too loud.

Phil sits on the bed, now speaking more quietly.

"Hey, hey, c'mon, try sitting against the headboard, you gotta take your medicine." 

He slowly takes the blankets off of him, holding onto Phil for support as the man helps him sit up straight. He holds on tighter to Phil's arms as white lines fill his vision.

He tilts his head back, feeling tears well up in his eyes from the throbbing pain on the sides of his head, nausea worsening.

Phil takes a small bottle of medicine from the bedside table as well as the full water bottle that they refill every time there's no water left.

Phil opens the bottle of medicine, his SOS medicine. They were drops, his stomach couldn't handle much during these attacks, he knew he would eat less than four meals in the next few days.

Tommy sticks his tongue out and Phil let's two drops of the medicine fall on his tongue. Tommy closes his mouth and gags at the taste of the medicine, immediately taking the water bottle and chugging about a third of it, though it didn't do much for the taste in his mouth.

He sits in silence with Phil, the man holding his hand in what he hopes is a reassuring gesture.

"Do you think you'll be able to go to school today?"

He's heard this question so many times, and every time he answers honestly he has to hear the quiet sigh of his father, that sigh that made his chest clench and the faucet in his eyes open, making the tears start pouring.

He stays quiet, frowning to himself as his stomach turns with nausea and anxiety.

He finally shakes his head and finds comfort in the way Phil squeezes his hand and simply nods with a gentle and concerned smile.

"It's my day off today so I'll be downstairs if you need anything, I'll bring you lunch later, okay?" Tommy simply nods in response, feeling difficulty in trying to form words, Phil nods back "Just rest, okay?"

Tommy gives Phil a strained smile, opening his arms for a hug, which he immediately receives.

Phil leaves the room, leaving Tommy to lay back down with some difficulty, now alone with his thoughts.

He turns over, trying to find a comfortable position to fall back asleep, so he doesn't have to deal with the pain he's in right now.

He can't imagine the kind of stress his father must be under right now, having adopted a child who then develops a chronic disease. 

He's heard what some people think of Phil, rumours amongst teachers in his school as well as some CPS workers. 

The way his school handled his situation could only be described as poorly, contacting CPS because he'd been absent one too many times. Having teachers yell at him for entire periods of class didn't really make him want to attend school either.

He doesn't remember much from the year all of it went down, small details of Phil confronting his teacher as well as the CPS worker assigned to their case were also blurry. 

The only thing he does remember clearly is sitting in an office alone with the CPS lady, he doesn't remember what they talked about, only remembers being embarrassed of how much he was coughing at the time.

Pills and hospitals were all he knew for a while, he didn't really know what people his age were worried about, or what they liked, he himself was occupied with noting down how many pills he has to take every day for the next six months.

He didn't want this to affect his life, but it did and there really wasn't much he could do to prevent it, there weren't many studies on children with chronic migraines, a lot of doctors refused to take children as patients because they didn't really know how much medicine to give them.

He's thought about the future, thought about how many times he'd have to repeat school years until he was free, what job he'd get, if he could get a job that was willing to deal with his disease.

Of course there was no telling how things would be in the future, hopefully his migraines would lessen and he'd actually be able to function without much medicine and without having to stay in bed for days.

He also wondered how much more time it'd take until Phil sent him back to foster care.

The tears previously threatening to spill finally slid down his face, the amount of times he's thought about this were too much for him to count, he couldn't bring himself to think further than that.

His body shook with sobs, he covers his mouth in hopes of quieting down, the pounding in his head worsens as the tears keep pouring.

He curls up, hoping Phil can't hear him, hoping he wouldn't have to lie to the man's face and say he was simply crying from physical pain when he knew it was so much more.

He doesn't remember falling asleep, only knowing it was restless. He also remembers waking up for a few moments to eat the soup Phil had made, he only ate about a quarter of the bowl, much to Phil's worries.

When he finally does stay awake the throbbing and the nausea aren't as bad and he doesn't feel dizzy anymore. 

He sits up in bed, putting on the orange tinted glasses that were on his bedside table.

He stands and stops for a moment, holding his arms out to balance himself on unstable legs.

He looks at his covered window, trying to calculate how long he's been asleep for.

He exits the room, shivering slightly from exiting the warmth of his bed. He hears sounds from the kitchen so he assumes Phil's making dinner.

He can also hear the soft tune of a guitar playing from his brother's room, he wishes he could listen to it for longer before his headache worsened.

He walks downstairs and into the kitchen, sitting at the dinner table and simply watching Phil humming to himself while cooking.

He was cooking baked potatoes and fish, one of the few things he could actually eat a full plate of when his apetite doesn't let him eat much.

He barely notices when Techno sits down besides him, reading a book while he waits for dinner to be ready.

"Techno, can you call Wilbur for dinner while Tommy sets the table?"

Tommy's groan mostly muffles Techno's response but either way, they both stand up to do what they're asked.

By the time Techno came back with Wilbur the table was set.

They have dinner as usual, nothing new happens, the same routine they have for every day happens.

Tommy is the last one to finish dinner, just as he finishes two pill bottles are placed in front of him by Phil along with a smile.

He stares at the bottles, pills for his migraines and anxiety, he doesn't like taking them, not only because he almost chokes every time he takes them, he'd just formed some kind of resentment against them.

It was stupid feeling such hatred towards something that makes him feel better, he doesn't know why he feels this way.

Actually he does, he's just not prepared to admit they make him feel abnormal compared to his peers by social standards.

"Has the therapist answered yet?"

"No, not yet, she said she'd call me when she could though." Phil sighs quietly to himself "With Covid and stuff you might not get an appointment until next month to be completely honest."

"Well," he gives Phil a smile that looks a bit like a grimace "better later than never."

He stands up to go to his room after taking his pills, pausing to give Phil a quick hug.

Once he closes the door to his room he just stands there, head empty of thoughts and stomach swirling with unjustified anxiety.

He wants to cry, he feels a huge weight over his being and just wants to curl up in self-pity and cry.

He looks up with a wet sniff, overthinking on reasons why he shouldn't let his emotions out while his brothers are in the rooms each side of his.

He closes his eyes and pulls his hair, his head is completely empty and he's not sure of what he's feeling right now; the only thing keeping him grounded is the anxiety at the pit of his stomach.

He sinks down to the floor with a sob, bringing his knees up and pulling harder on his hair.

He wants things to get better.

He hopes things do get better.


End file.
